You stand inside yourself
Comfortable in your silence your words flow gentle in your mind the rapid thinking the peaceful reflections and internal smiles wam the hearth of who you are
Retuning to the true self you open the door to the calm you once loved but feared
If only in days of youth you could have recognised the strength embraced by the gentle touch and the near silent whisper of words
The shake is now gone from the echo of your voice. The embarrassment of a younger you the nervous tremor passes with the scars of life .
When you talk now it’s a whisper which comes from so deep inside of you it’s volume has reduced to near silence yet the words are full of the child inside you never lost
How can you be the writer you are with out clasping dearly to the child inside
The one who held wonder at everyone and everything the beauty of the sea the sounds of the daffodil the touch of the bee the colour of the rain filled sky when the sun defracts the crystals
Even when the volume rises the softness has now returned and the smile of peace with a world where sometimes the sky is a shade of purple and sometimes red and sometimes a vivid blue. Where the man with the cup outstretched touches your soul and you don’t know if he’s tale is true but it doesn’t matter because when his knuckle hits yours he reveals himself to be your brother by virtue of kindred spirits of lost souls who aren’t lost at all but a different shade of the human condition.
Lost to the world of man made mind mangling muscle massing medical mistakes you lost a bit of yourself while gaining a bit you would never forego for it was the journey which mattered but the journey now is softer and gentle and your mind wisps to the ease of the summer stream and your soul touches the world with the gentle kindness of the ladybirds dream
The need to fight the love of a good scrap the blood flow of the lift is still there but different . A changed perspective a controlled rage of beauty where the physical utilisation of the body mingles with the working of the brain. A peace within the chaos
The making of a man who was old when he was young and now young when old. The fake bravery of the drug replaced with the returned courage of the gentle. The loud and boisterous a sand burying shield no longer needed when inside their is no storm to defeat
And the pen feeds your soul. The moments when you transcend reality to touch the reality of the story growing inside your mind the smile as the words flow and when you read them and the people laugh and smile and you feel a warmth because you could sense one of them needed to laugh and one learned something and the rest just for those five minutes forgot their worlds and abandoned themselves to your paragraphs and your gentleness touches the world with a tiny slice of joy
Frankie writing on his return to the peace of the introvert who now understands the whisper reverberates beyond the reach of the scream . The picture is of me with my mam and my aunt chrissie the two most intelligent people I have ever met who’s humour and joy have touched my heart and my mind making me laugh and ponder and love. They have always understood my words and concepts. They have given me their thoughts and understandings and concepts and theories and stories and made me think more than any lecture or book by people of educational prowess. I am forever in their debt. When I hadn’t even a whisper when silence was my own means of communication they were the guardians of my self on this reality which sometimes is difficult terrain for us who aren’t quite the standard creatures of a poorly defined normality